Chess
by Ariana Malfoy- Lestrange
Summary: “Just shush, Hermione,” he orders, “for once in your life, just shut up and cry.” RHr oneshot.


Author's Notes: This RHr themed-but not fully centered on RHr one-shot is for the oh-so lovely **Travisty**, my Requiem BETA.

**Travisty**: Here's your "Ron/Hermione fluff 7th year"…ha. It's not fluff because I'm utterly incapable of writing such, and it's almost 7th year…doesn't the summer before 7th year count? Oh well. It's here. And probably way more angstier than you wanted it to be, but it's not all angst, I swear! Anyways, Moon, dearie, I hope you like it…thank you for your help on Requiem and for reviewing other pieces when no one else would. And thanks for erm…being there. In general. ; )

If you review, I'll give you pumpkin pie. : D

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He brings her here because he thinks it will do her good. Though he can't quite put his finger on it, he thinks it'll do her good. And when his mother asks, "Why, Ron, of all places?" he can't answer as clearly as he would like to, and only say stubbornly, "I don't know. I just think it would do her good. She's not right since he died, you know that, Mum. Oh, she's still bookish, and smart, and logical, and all that, but there's something gone about her, you know? And Ginny says she wakes up a lot at night." He shakes his head. "I just think it would do her good." 

Hermione sets the flowers she brought on top of the white marble. She takes a step back, allowing her eyes to run the length of the tomb. "I can't believe he's really dead."

"Neither can I," Ron says, his eyes unfocused and weary. Hers are hard, with dark circles running underneath.

"Things are so-" she searches for the right word, biting her lip, "so _bad_ these days."

"I'm worried about Harry," he says, suddenly.

"Me too. He's different."

"Don't I know it," He shakes his head, ruefully remembering last night.

She catches his eye. "He didn't mean it."

"I know he didn't."

There is a short silence.

"I'm worried about you too," he blurts out, characteristically.

Her eyes soften. "You don't have to be. Really, I'm fine."

"That's bull, and you know it."

She opens her mouth to say something. He cuts her off.

"No, hold on for a moment. You haven't been the same since he died," he gestures to the tomb.

"None of us have!" she says, her temper flaring, "What, Ron, did you think nothing would change?"

"Course not. I'm not daft, Hermione."

"Really?"

He ignores her sarcasm and goes on. "It's almost like you're trying too hard. You've put up this…this front…of being strong, of being in control, but there's something _gone_ about you." He stares at her determinedly, blue eyes the color of a summer sky burning into hers. He won't let her make excuses, not this time.

"Ron," she whispers brokenly, "I …_have to_. I have to pretend that…that we'll be okay, you know?"

She looks like she wants to cry. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, thinking better of it.

He sighs. "Oy, I'm a prat, don't listen to me. I don't know what I'm talking about."

"No, you're right. I'm a pretender. That's how I deal with things. I escape into books, pretend that nothing's there. But I can't escape from any of _this_, as hard as I try." She gestures around her. "Not _this_." She lays a hand on the tomb, shivering at its coldness. _Cold even under the warm August sun…cold…_she can't help it. Though she tries desperately not to, she breaks so fast that she can't catch the pieces, sinks to her knees and begins to cry, silently, but steadily, her head against the cool marble. She's not crying so much for Dumbledore as she is crying so much for herself. For Harry. For Ron. Ron. Because with Dumbledore gone, nothing is certain anymore. She cries for that lost certainty. Because she has no idea what will happen now, none at all.

Ron is frozen. It terrifies him out of his wits, Hermione crying. Even though Harry's the hero, Hermione's the backbone. The practical one. The one who doesn't cry, but thinks. He too kneels, and awkwardly begins to pat her on the back. "Erm…there…there…" Though he knows all too ridiculous he sounds, he's not too clear on what else to do. Unexpectedly, she begins to laugh. "Ron, you're hopeless…just hopeless."

"I know I am, but-" he catches her eye. "Hermione." And before he knows it, he's hugging her, holding her, rocking her, as she curls up into a tight ball and sobs into his neck. She's mumbling something incomprehensible- something about how she hates crying. "Just shush, Hermione," he orders, "for once in your life, just shut up and _cry_."

Surprisingly, she listens to him.

They stay like that for a while, and somehow they end up with their backs against Dumbledore's tomb, legs stretched out on the grass.

And then, almost out of nowhere, she says lowly, her gaze removed and distant, " I expected to feel something."

He stares at her. "You didn't?"

She shakes her head, brown curls flying. "Not for ages and ages. It was just empty, nothing, a big black hole gnawing and gnawing and gnawing inside of me. Nothing. I expected tears and hurt. But there was nothing." She clears her throat. "But then one day, that hole opened up and everything spilled out of it. Dreams. Hopes. And it began. The fear. The terror. The nightmares." She can't say much more. "With Dumbledore dead, it just doesn't seem like there will ever be an end, you know? Like this war will just go on and on and on…" she pulls a blade from grass from the ground, wrapping it around her finger.

"There's an end somewhere."

"But where? When? A few months? A few years? And how many of us will live to see it?"

"Why bother to ask? Why not just…just _live_ and see what happens?"

"Because I hate not knowing. Because I hate this part of me that wants to crawl into a corner and hide."

"I didn't know that part existed."

"It's always been there. I just forgot to see it."

"You don't forget anything- that's my job." He smiles. She doesn't smile back, lost in her thoughts.

"Maybe I didn't forget. Maybe I just never saw it. Or saw it as something else. I don't know."

"You always know."

"I pretend I do."

"There's something wrong with the world when you don't know."

"There are a lot of things wrong with the world."

"Right little beam of sunshine you are, aren't you?"

"I'm _serious,_ Ron."

"So am I. Listen, Hermione, no matter how bad things are now, they could be a lot worse."

She stares at him, incredulously."How?"

He frowns. "Well…if this is like Quidditch," then catches the look on her face and says hastily, "erm…okay, not Quidditch. If this whole …_thing_ is like a game of chess…then…"

"Then Harry is the King."

"No. The reason we're fighting is the King. We're not fighting for Harry, Hermione, you know that."

"What are we fighting for?"

"Come on, 'Mione. You know, don't you?"

She begins slowly, watching something in the sky he can't see. "For an idea. For the idea that…that _anybody_ should be able to practice magic. For the idea that your blood doesn't matter. We're fighting for…for…peace. We're fighting for life, real life, not the kind Voldemort wishes so desperately to prolong. We're fighting to live, Ron, you and me. To…love. And to hope. We're fighting for all of that. That's our King. Life."

He's silent for a second, staring at her with something she's never seen before in his face. When he begins again, his voice is slightly huskier. "And we pawns, bishops, knights, castles- we all are defending him at all costs. And our leader, our player- who was Dumbledore- has left. Even though Harry always faced off to Voldemort, Dumbledore moved the rest of the pieces around on the board. But now he's gone."

"Who will lead us now?"

"Harry, of course."

"Harry!" she lets out a low, bitter laugh, "Harry."

"He's the best out of all of us, you know."

She is touched by his earnestness. "I know." And she does know. She really does.

"So at least we're not playing alone. At least our king hasn't been checked yet. At least Harry is playing for us. The game's just begun."

"But oh, Ron- I'm frightened for him. He's so withdrawn now- for hours at a time, he'll go and just sit by himself, staring at nothing. And we can't reach him there. By the end of this- if there is an end- he'll be broken."

"Well, Hermione, that's our job. To put him back together, best as we can."

"Do _you_ think he'll come out whole?"

"I don't think anybody will come out whole."

"Us?" She doesn't mean them separately.

He glances at her. "We can try."

"We will, won't we?"

He reaches for her hand, and clasps it tightly. She doesn't pull away.

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Author's Notes: Tell me what you think of it. Was Hermione too weak? I've always felt that while outwardly she may seem like the stronger one, Ron is the real support in the relationship…anyways, yes, there's a little button down there…click and submit. : ) 


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